


Belated Holiday

by GlyphArchive



Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: Awkwardness, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Mother-Son Relationship, Post-Canon, Wish Fulfillment, estranged family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-23 08:13:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23875084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlyphArchive/pseuds/GlyphArchive
Summary: In the wake of Bhalladeva's death there are many things Devasena must get used to. Freedom. Nightmares. Figuring out how to approach her son, and not compare him to the shadow of his father. Fortunately, some of her cleverness seems to have made its home in Mahendra, as the opportunity to step back and reevaluate presents itself. Follow-up to Reprieve.
Kudos: 9





	Belated Holiday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CarminaVulcana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarminaVulcana/gifts).



The halls of Mahishmati were not as she remembered, not truly, but that was another thing Devasena suspected she might never get back from the flow of time. Her memory of wide halls and open chambers had dimmed and hardened, sweetness turned sour by loss and betrayal. Then, it had fossilized; become something to run the pads of her fingers over in the darkness of night and console herself, or spark the quiet rebellion in her memory which had allowed her to defy Bhalladeva’s attempts at torture and mistreatment.

Now she could once more freely walk the length of pale stone which her husband had known since birth but it did not fit itself to the bottoms of her feet or the wary touch of her hands. She could admire it, regard it coolly from beneath her lashes if necessary; or occasionally smile if she chanced upon some tender memory.

But it was not the Mahishmati she’d known as a bride, a wife, a prospective Queen. And now it was changing again, this time by the hands of her son; the son she’d kept alive in her memory and whispered her hopes to when hours bleakly trickled by and she had only shackles for company.

Her son who was now a man, so like his father in appearance; who stood before her now and hesitated to approach as though he thought disrupting her study of a garden below might bring about offence.

“Was there something you needed?” She asked him quietly, turning away from artfully managed trees and creepers; taking in the whole of him at a glance and, in doing so, found her heart gently swelling to full. It was slow, like rainwater drifting into a natural furrow of the earth; but she felt it. For him she could muster a smile, however fleeting, if only to see how he quietly startled at the sight of it. “Come, there is no need to be shy. If you have questions, I will do my best to answer.”

He looked somewhat abashed at that, sheepishly coming to stand beside her and brace his hands on the sun-warmed stone of the balcony. Unlike his father Mahendra ducked his head low when he thought, a twitch in his jaw suggesting that he was used to worrying at his lip when troubled. He restrained himself now, and not for the first time Devasena found herself slightly jealous of Sanga, dear as she was, for having been able to learn all his boyhood tells and habits.

But she could learn now and she had always been a keen judge of character. Such a skill had been sharpened accordingly during her imprisonment and though she did not regard him with muted wariness as she had the armed guards of the courtyard, it continued to serve her well.

There was something he _wanted_ to ask, but he did not know how just yet. His saving her had brought them together, yes, but there had not been enough time for Mahendra to know how to address her. As mother, or a Queen, as a stranger or a once-lost friend.

To her, he was her son before anything else. Even before he was a King, though she had not held him for longer than a few hours after his birth. To him, perhaps, she was too much to be any one thing. Too new, like the palace and its trappings; like the weight of Mahishmati’s crown upon his curly head when he attended court.

“Forgive me.” Mahendra mumbled at last, pulling his gaze away from the garden down below to look at her; no longer bracing himself like an unsteady tree. “I have not been as attentive to you as I should have been. I meant to ask… are you well? Are you comfortable? Are… are you happy?”

That last question seemed to weigh on him deeper than the rest, his inquiry about her welfare echoed with something of his own unrest. It showed in his eyes, no longer as careless as they had been when he’d stumbled into the courtyard with no clear idea and then seen her in chains. Now he carried a shadowed look, confronted with an unfamiliar world; and perhaps some part of him wanted to assure itself that, at least where she was concerned, all was well. That he’d done something right in all the aftermath of tumult.

“It takes getting used to, being in such big rooms after so long in a cage.” Devasena replied in a tone not quite dry, but somber. “In time I’ll be able to manage it, I’m sure.” But it was not easy, and many times she caught herself withdrawing from the guards as though they might seize her and drag her back. For all she knew, logically, that she was free of chains there were moments where Devasena felt them nonetheless; weighing down her wrists and ankles. She listened for the clatter of them with her every step and thought its absence a trap waiting to be sprung.

Mahendra frowned at her choice of words, but it was a thoughtful thing and not a sign of offence taken at her honesty. He moved slowly, reaching for a moment; and then the warm press of his fingers on the back of her hand provided a thin, sweetly-meant reassurance.

“I would have come sooner, had I known.” He said, and the words were heavy. “You would not have suffered for so long, then.”

“You cannot know that.” Devasena countered, folding her other hand over his and giving it a firm squeeze before drawing back. He withdrew as well but the tension had mostly left his frame, leaving him almost comfortable in her presence. “What happened, happened. We can’t change it, only move forward. But I am healing, which is what you wanted to ask; and I would like to hope that you may heal as well.”

It was no small thing to be uprooted and transplanted into strange soil. All her favorite stories mentioned it, played on such details; but here her son was, living it. So far, out of necessity, he’d borne the burden well. But mountains weighed heavy and the past was a surer set of shackles than any iron, an unlooked-for future as terrifying as plunging over a cliff.

She could offer him a little comfort from it, in her way.

Mahendra smiled, unrestrained and boyish; eyes lighting up. “You’re the first to bring it up. I suppose I am not so good at hiding my doubts as my father must have been. But thank you, Maa.”

_Maa._ Even if he only meant the word at face value with no deeper connection than duty, hearing him say it was enough to soften her expression a little.

“Your father was very poor at keeping secrets.” Devasena told him fondly, remembering it for herself. “If someone went to him in trust then it would be safe, but with his own worries he was more candid. There is no need to model yourself after a stone, fearing that you are somehow not enough. Your father was kind, and he made mistakes; just as I did.”

It seemed to be the thing to say, since Mahendra’s eyes lowered and he swallowed carefully; holding some thought close like a worry stone.

“He seemed like a god, in Kattappa’s stories.” Her son admitted quietly. To her and only her, it seemed, as the bright halls of Mahishmati allowed them this privacy. “I was not sure such a man could have really lived, or that I could truly be his son.”

“You are his son, as you are mine.” Devasena was the one to reach out this time, slowly as he’d done for her. His sleeve dimpled under her fingers, the skin beneath warm and imperfect as her own. Reassuringly human, though tales might make more of him in enough time. “Just as you are Sanga’s. Kattappa may be a brilliant storyteller, but he loved your father the hardest. It may be easier to spin the loss into a tale which makes a god out of a man, but a man he was and he was a man when he died.”

Bhalladeva had made a game out of spinning lies about her husband’s death in the hopes of breaking her spirit. His words had dredged up terrible images, any fact managing to be far worse than fiction. She’d tuned him out as best she could but sometimes the words found cracks in her stony silence, haunting her. In retaliation Devasena had consoled herself that, in the end, Amarendra was beyond Bhalladeva’s reach and she would be as well; when the time came.

Mahendra had fulfilled that promise, whether he was aware of it or not.

He nodded and Devasena pulled her hand away, waiting for the clouds in his expression to sort themselves out into pliable thought and be spoken.

“It will take time,” Mahendra ventured at last, almost to himself and not to her. “To reconcile that with all everyone has said. But part of me is grateful too, knowing that I must not be a perfect shadow to him at all times.”

“Be yourself.” Devasena cautioned after a moment, turning her experiences in Mahishmati over in her mind. “And make no excuses for it. But be aware that your words and thoughts will reach farther than another man’s, and may not be interpreted as you intended them.”

Again he nodded and she was given another glimpse of that boyish smile. “Good advice. But I noticed you did not answer one of my questions, before. Are you happy, here?”

_Impertinent boy._ She had been the same, once; just as his father had likely been.

“You will need to smooth your way better than that.” Devasena allowed herself to smile, thin and amused; before the seriousness of his question drove such away. “To answer…” It did not take much thought, really. “No. And yes.”

His brows rose, creating shallow wrinkles on his forehead. Her incredulous boy was young yet, cheeks still barely rounded even if he was able to grow a beard.

“No.” He repeated, oddly gentle. “And yes? Are you fond of puzzles, Maa?”

“Not especially.” She chuckled, soft and a little dry; the sound not like the leaves which had brushed about her feet when she had stooped to gather sticks for her pyre. “I cannot say that I am completely happy with what has been done and what I have lost. Much has been gained, and you have given me more than just my freedom,” her eyes softened a hair and Mahendra relaxed under it once again. “But I am happy to see you and to walk as I once did, if with a little more pausing.”

That was her happiness, at the moment. Not the savage joy watching Bhalladeva wither and burn had brought, or the sense of victory Mahendra’s crowning had given her. She had her limbs, though they’d aged; and she could still walk, even if some days it could generously be called a shuffle. Every hour was a little more, though what she’d lost still ached. Every day she could take a little more of this quiet happiness and hold it in her palms, run her fingers over it, and counter the weight of her sadness.

“What would make you happier?” Mahendra’s voice brought her back to the present, his stare gentle and face hopeful and open. “If the palace is too much or – or if somewhere else might be to your liking, it could be arranged.” He floundering here, in conversation rather than the river she’d heard mentioned by the villagers which had thronged around his adoptive mother. Not a king but more than a man, he wanted to know what would make the mother he’d only known a handful of days happy when all his experience had been bent to another.

True, it could be hard walking through Mahishmati’s palace and tell herself there were no phantoms. That she did not look for Amarendra or hold her breath lest Bhalladeva seize upon her hope.

Unbidden, a memory surfaced and the old exchange brought a bittersweet light to her eyes; though it could not quite make her smile.

“Once your father promised that we would take a vacation together, after we had been exiled.” Devasena found the words rising up and slipping from her mouth like they had a will of their own, nostalgia taking away a portion of the sting. “He’d been ill when he mentioned it, and it was no small task to convince him to stay and rest in our home. But when he recovered there was never an opportunity for him to keep his word.”

She had been too close to her delivery time, after a point, for travel to be safe. News had come of Kattappa being in danger then, and Amarendra had gone and never come back.

How quickly it had all spiraled out of control, then.

“I see.” Mahendra said carefully, thoughtful now in the wake of her quiet revelation. Then with equal care, if not more concern, he asked, “Did you think of a place you would like to go? Back to Kuntala, maybe? Or another kingdom?”

Devasena laughed, this time with less brittleness. She raised a hand to wave aside his worry when it showed on his face, a smile clinging to her mouth though it was not entirely happy.

“If I did,” she admitted, “then I have forgotten it since. We could not go back to Mahishmati then, and I was not fit to travel so far as Kuntala. But it was a pleasant dream, and it comforted me, for a time.”

He nodded, uncertainty still playing across the angles of his features. The sound of footsteps alerted them both and Devasena supposed it was a sign that this would be the end of their conversation. It might have been a tiny miracle they’d been able to speak so in the first place; given how busy the palace could be.

“Thank you, Maa.” Mahendra told her softly, though one ear perked towards the approaching figure’s rapid steps. “I cherish your honesty.”

“I would not lie to you.” Devasena hummed, turning back to the garden slowly. “Now go. Mahishmati needs her king.”

He left her then, as though her permission had been what stayed his feet all along. Devasena did not listen to the words spoken behind her, for they were not for her ears. But the lull of Mahendra’s voice was comforting and she let it soothe the ringing quiet that otherwise filled her hearing.

* * *

Weeks passed and she largely forgot the conversation in the daily bustle of things. It was not until he found her one morning in the archery yard, smiling, that she thought of it again. Mahendra’s footsteps were light and he had something of a swagger to his step. Perhaps an echo of what had initially drawn Avanthika’s eye in irritation, though to Devasena he looked almost like a peacock preening its feathers. Yet he seemed happy, and she could not bring herself to mind if he smiled a little like a fool.

“Maa.” He called, closing the distance between them amicably. “Are you taking up archery once more?”

“The thought has crossed my mind.” Devasena admitted, though right then she held no bow. It was quiet in the yard and she did not have to fear onlookers. “What has you here so early? Has something happened?”

His smile widened and she noticed a twinkle in his eye, as though he knew a precious secret. “Something _will_ happen, perhaps, but that remains to be seen. Do you feel well enough to travel a little? We can take our time, so there is no rush if you’re still recovering. But it would be a good holiday, and you could have the promise my father made be kept.”

“You don’t have to hold yourself to his promises.” Devasena reminded him with a hint of firmness in her tone, regarding him with slightly furrowed brows. “It is not your fault that events played out as they did.” The thought was a sweet one, yes – but also something which might be concerning. Her son had not been born then, had no way of knowing what went on in the world before he’d seen his first night or day. That he might feel he had to fill his father’s place, however well-intentioned, did not sit right in her thoughts.

“I know.” Mahendra assured and there was no self-recrimination in his gaze. He was still smiling, kind and soft. “But this is something that I _want_ to do, and if it helps us to understand one another better then I’ll be even more grateful. But…” and he hesitated, turning from confidence into a moment of sheepishness. “But if you do not want to go… I understand. I thought we might both benefit from seeing something besides ghosts for a while.”

His father might have worded it more eloquently, but there was a charm to his boyishness that Devasena found endearing. He meant well, her son; only lacking a starting point to set his path and aim properly towards his goal. And she could not blame him, not really, when he was earnestly trying.

“And where would we go?” She asked instead of chastising him again. “Can you afford to leave, so early into your reign?”

“Ties must be mended.” He answered quickly, like he’d expected just such a question and rehearsed his response. Perhaps he had. It made her pride for him grow just a little. “The previous king did not make reliable allies, which I would remedy. And,” Mahendra paused, studying her face with a new earnest intensity. “I would like to show you my childhood home, if you might agree to it. A simple village yes, but it was my home. We could also see yours and set plans to restore it. You could tell me what it was like,” he added hopefully, “before… _Before_.”

“And nowhere else?” It felt a touch strange, to tease another person again after so long. But Devasena’s practicality would not let her permit him to get away with leaving his duties behind for such things, even if they might hold such sentimental importance. Even if her heart ached to see Kuntala again, no matter its state. “That will not build you allies, only provide reassurance from those who already love you; and to soothe my old memories of my previous home.”

Rather than shrink in on himself Mahendra only smiled wider, inclining his head dutifully.

“It is but two stops on the long road,” he suggested with mischievous ease; allowing her a glimpse at the boy he must have been in Sanga’s care: willful but good-natured, and stubborn as a bull. Not an easy child to raise, she was certain. “And we might tarry a little between stops at the gates of our potential allies. Perhaps even stay a while in Vrindavan?”

_Vrindavan_. She had never been. The thought danced gently at the back of her mind, full of promise. He knew how to spin a deal, her boy.

“Show me a proper itinerary first.” Devasena folded all thoughts that were not business away, but her voice was not harsh. “When you’ve made it clear that you have a proper goal, we might proceed. Not until then.”

Mahendra grinned as though she had already said yes, his eyes bright and full of certainty. “Of course! Come with me then, and you can see it for yourself. Kattappa was kind enough to provide advice on where to start first.”

She held her tongue on that, choosing instead to turn her steps to match his; the rise of Mahishmati greeting them as they walked; light chatter and companionable silence making what was once unfamiliar almost homey.

**Author's Note:**

> Another gift to CarminaVulcana, who is terribly kind and sweet. I hope you enjoyed this one as well.


End file.
